A flutter of red to provoke the bull. Such wonderfully predictable people.
“Alright,” he yells, in order to be heard over the growing conversation and laughter surrounding us, “if you want to fight, I'll fight.” Then quieter. “How you want to do this?
“I demand a fight to the death.” Projecting my voice outward and the buzz of the crowd growing. “If I win, I get your shit. If you win, you can get whatever you want.”
Almost spooked him. Hesitation at fight to the death, but then that sweetener. Hungry boy.
“Okay,” he says, while nodding his head a few times. “Okay, okay.” Psyching himself up. “If that's how you want it. After this I'm not going to give you a break. I'm heading over to the temple and I'm carrying you back to my House, and then I'm going spend the next couple hours ploughing your little puss. I hope you like it rough. And then all these boys are going to get a turn - or is that a little too strong?”
“It's a fight to the death, right?” Now those are some proper terms. “Get one of your boys to officiate.” My immediate acceptance only making him scowl. Starting the fight off on the right foot by preemptively cheating. Using my ungloved hand to put a blot on his outfit.
Riley's boyfriend, Everton, can only look around helplessly. Flabbergasted. The other guys in the Sotrmhawk group glance at each other, but then one raises his hands and yells, “Clear a space!”
What a great location, and look at all these people. Unfortunately, my legend can't start back up today. Would like to get fancy, but there are two problems. First, can't afford to chance anything. Those terms are insane. Wasn't thinking clearly. Second, don't know how this guy fights, but he certainly has no clue about me. The legend can wait. Quick and professional.
My opponent unslinging his bow and putting it off to the side with the rest of his stuff. Coming back with a buckler strapped to his forearm, a sword short, and now putting on a chain helmet. A cat coming up beside him. Where'd that come from? Huh. Well, the good news is he's not a Warrior. Great news, actually. He's got different skills, and broad daylight in the center of town is certainly not the best place for them.
Concentrating on the blot to try and remove pieces. Dang, he's out of range, have to do it once it starts. Note to self, more ranks in Transference. Okay, he'll either send the cat in first to maul me, or potentially flank. Hopefully the former, because a flank would be bad. Once the kitty gets in range, or near enough, need to be quick and brutal. They absolutely hate losing a pet.
The circle of spectators spreading out around us and my opponent getting into position five paces away. His form blurring in a wave of color, mostly browns and greys, attempting to blend into his surroundings and making it more difficult to see his extremities as they move. His friend, the officiator, takes his place between us.
Putting my pack down to the side and cracking my neck. Quick arm stretches. Knife ready. Oh, you're noticing that red glow? Never specified flares or not, and this one's got a little more bite than normal. Fair's fair in a fight to the death. Well, looks like seeing it made your mind up, you have to run at me in order to end it sooner. The longer this goes the more likely you get extra toasty. No chance of attempted flank from the cat. Reversing the grip on my knife and supporting the base with my right hand.
“Go!” the officiator says, dropping his arm and quickly moving out of the way.
Most people flinch when a mountain lion runs at them. Which is normal. It's the kind of perfectly natural behavior that requires some unlearning. And cats are faster than men; that's just how that goes. Sprinting from my readied stance and aiming directly for the cat, and the animal, with a similar idea, springing at me with claws extended and mouth open. Almost colliding together, but the cat hitting a crackling barrier instead, its outstretched limbs collapsing due to the unexpected impact. The head following from behind and being forced to turn to one side. Exposing the the neck. Staying at full speed and running through, my braced weapon tearing its the throat and coming out the back. A spray of blood covering me from the near decapitation. Felis mors percutiens. The body, limp, colliding with me. Weight knocking me to the ground.
Unable to control my laugh. It hurts, but it's so funny. Feels like one of the claws managed to get my right shoulder when we hit, but not deep, mostly stopped by my armor. His yell, his denial, still ringing out. An anguished cry mourning the severed connection with his former four legged friend. Emotionally in shock and rooted in place.
Pulsing the shield to knock the cat to the side and getting to my feet, my front totally covered in a sticky red, and my opponent still not together. Furious, with his weapon up, but tears rolling down his cheeks. Not moving. Removing the pieces of the blot to put a Rune Trap on him. Putting blot on my own shoulder, Rune of Mending, the wound closing and my armor repairing. That wasn't such a bad hit, barely feeling tired at all. Another note to self, should preemptively cover my armor in Mending runes. Maybe with how things are going it's time to get a little fancy.
Wiping my ungloved hand across my face to clear my right eye. “Oh shit, I killed your cat.” Giving the bloody bag of fur and bones a kick. “I'm really sorry! Hahaha!” Laughing at him and pointing with my knife.
My taunt spurring him to action. The guy running at me with a wordless scream and swinging with abandon. In a blind fury, with wild, overbearing swings. Staying on defense, not directly blocking with the shield, but deflecting each slash and stab to the side while maneuvering backward in circles. Knocking him off course and off balance with a couple pulses of the shield, and countering with my own light pokes and slashes. The energy in my weapon increasing with each block or ineffectual hit against his armor. The incoming strikes of his weapon clear even as his extremities and the outer edges of his form blur into the background.
This is a nice sparring session. My fighting style is nowhere as blindingly fast as it used to be, but the shield erupting, and interrupting, at the speed of thought more than makes up for the relative slowness of my feet.
A particularly aggressive, and off-balance, strike proving too opportune. Knocking his weapon to the side and stepping in. Using another pulse to hit him directly under the nose. The guy stumbling back a step, wide open, with a new batch of tears filling his eyes. Putting all my strength behind a straight thrust to the stomach, and my knife puncturing a few inches into his chain armor. Twisting the blade on the way out to gouge out some more, and blocking his attempted counter with the shield.
My opponent stepping back into a defensive position, fury spent and breathing hard. You didn't realize a weak little girl could muster the strength to punch through, huh? You thought wearing chainmail meant you were mostly safe until it went off? Soon, soon. Only a couple more swings until it's ready to go. Looks like the poke to the belly woke him up and now he realizes he was being led around by the nose since before this even got started.
Stepping in and going on the offensive. He's fighting smarter - he definitely would've done much better if this is how he was fighting from the start - but that still wouldn't have changed the ending because he was always on the clock. My knife full to bursting and the knife pulsing in my grip. Giving him my best smile. A low feint to drop his hands and then activating the Rune Trap. Uh oh, you don't know what happened, do you? Into your cheek. The weapon flaring and the gout of flame throwing off a wave of heat. Hair alight, face melting and eyeballs boiling.
Falling to his knees. There's the ghost.
Screams and yells and cries accenting the smell of burnt hair and charred meat. Surprise and horror. My adoring public. Throwing my knife in the air, spinning end over end. Catching and resheathing in one smooth motion. The Stormhawk group slowly breaking away from the surrounding crowd. Oh boy, they are not happy. Heh. Gonna teach you not to underestimate me.
“I get all his stuff, right? Or do you want to beg for some mercy?” Giving a quick glance at his ghost. “How pissed do you think he's going to be? What's his bow made out of, anyway?” None of them responding. “So how 'bout this, how 'bout we all go back to being palsy-walsy and I'll just take, I dunno, all his money. How broke are you guys? They don't pay you shit over there, do they? Two fifty a cycle, right?” Smile going wide, then back to serious. “I'll take his pocket change and you can keep his shit. Then don't fuck with me anymore.”
The group conferring. Some profanity and one particular word said several times in anger and disbelief, and then once or twice in levity. Macarthy. Here one comes.
“He's going to be very angry about that cat, but as far as we're concerned, that's fine. Sorry about all this.”
The ghost and body disappearing.
My eyes crinkling. “Great, I got what I wanted, anyway.” Let's see what you got in your pockets. No surprise, you are one broke ass bitch. Should've taken your stuff. Oh well, buyer's remorse is normal. Going over to his pack and looking through. A net gain of fortyish silver. Could be worse. Wiping my face off on some cloth inside his pack, turning to grab my stuff and finding someone standing in my way. Riley's boyfriend, Everton, with an uncertain expression. Come to think of it, this is similar to how we first met. Me, covered in blood, and him, with that same expression.
“Lucy, I-”
“You don't need to apologize, but when it comes to Evie you better mind your-” Mind your manners. He wouldn't understand the phrase. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. I don't want to give her anything to worry about.”
“You're okay with doing that? I figured you'd, well...”
“I'd much rather not get in trouble with her.”
“Yeah, I don't want that, either. So, we're good?”
“Us? We're fine. And this? I barely even remember what led to it. How're you liking Stormhawk?”
“I-” The guy glancing in the direction of his group. “They're mostly good guys.”
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“I don't doubt. It's was good seeing you today, Jack. I'll catch you 'round.”
Not waiting for his answer and getting my pack back on. Too dirty to see Shaker now, and it'd be a complete waste of time cleaning it this early. Underground, it is, but first some errands. A couple people clapping me on the shoulder while walking out, and a few good jobs. Heading back to the bank.
“I'd like to withdraw fifteen hundred, in gold.”
The teller looking at me, then glancing up and off to one side. Pausing. Confused. Looking around some. Waving my hand in front of her face and clearing my throat.
“I'm sorry, Ms. Macarthy,” she says. “Here's your money.” Counting out fifteen gold coins. “Your remaining balance is three thousand seven hundred fifty five silver, three thousand two hundred fifty five of which is available for withdrawal. Thank you for banking with us.”
“Thank you.”
Collecting my money and heading over to the cobbler.
“I'm going to need a couple more pairs of boots. One for more mountainous terrain, a little more breathable than the current pair I have on. And something like those other boots you made, they were absolutely wonderful but something happened and they must've up and ran off.”
“Light brown again for the color?” he says.
“Lets do dark brown, instead. Actually, more brown. And then dark grey for the mountain ones. If possible could I pick up one set and leave the other here for a few days?”
“I can store it for a few days.”
“Excellent, you're a lifesaver. I still need to sort my living situation. Oh, and then a regular pair of shoes for puttering around town. Low top. Let's do light brown on those.”
“Style?”
“I don't know. Comfortable.”
“How about something like this?” Grabbing a loafer from a nearby display.
“A slip on? No. How about something more like- like- like- like that one there. I like the laces and stitch pattern. And it's nice and simple, understated. Actually, I've changed my mind on the color, those look really sharp. I'll do black like that. The boots I don't need right away, but can those shoes be ready by tomorrow?”
“Certainly.”
Counting out the money then heading to the clothing store.
“Ms. Macarthy, welcome back” the woman says, as she takes stock of my appearance. “Would you like me to have your clothes cleaned?”
“Don't worry about it, and thank you, it's great to be back. I'm retiring this set. It's done its job very well, but it's time for some upgrades. That other set you made was phenomenal but, for the life of me, I don't know where it could've floated off to, so I need another. For this waterproof set I like the color, just make it with better material. For the other set, exactly like you did before, but maybe a touch darker. And I need a new cloak, this green is still useful right now, but I'm going to need a medium brown for fall.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Yes, I need an incognito set. A non threatening set. That red skirt you made for me some time back was great, but, unfortunately I lost it somewhere, too. Let's do black this time. More demure. Won't stand out. And I'm not a hundred percent on the style of the old shirt, so could you do short sleeved, instead? Definitely not down to the wrist.” My grin breaking through. “White again, it looked really good, and I think that color will add a certain panache, you know?” My grin getting wider. No, she doesn't know. “And then more underwear and undershirts, black, more of those knee high socks, also black, a couple of white undershirts, tanktops. And then another set of those long, thigh high socks in, why not, black.”
The woman nodding as my list grows, her smile growing with it.
“And, I'm really sorry, I know it's a lot, but could this possibly be ready by tomorrow at some point?”
“I'll make it a priority. I appreciate your business.”
“I appreciate you.”
Counting out the money and then heading to the pawnshop.
“You don't have the sort of hand axe I was looking for, but what's the price on this one?”
“Seventeen hundred,” he says, in his oily tone.
Fighting those trees today really highlights the need for a primary weapon. It turned out alright with Riley playing artillery and us covering, but this knife was only useful here and there when it charged up. But maybe an axe like this knife wouldn't be ideal - it'll be even slower to charge. Seventeen hundred for this one, though? Maybe. But currently out of my price range.
“I'll think about it, thank you.” Leaving and then wandering through the merchant district. Four thirty, the day slipping away. Let's see, room for rent, room for rent. There should be a real estate office somewhere around here. There, a free standing sign next to a white building. Lumeer Luxury Living. The logo a stick house beside a few wavy lines, possibly the ocean. This must be the place. Turning the knob and being hit by the smell of tobacco smoke. Several cluttered desks, but no agents in sight.
“Hello, I was wondering about renting an apartment. Hello?”
A noise off to the side.
“Hello? You've got a customer. Money to burn.”
“We're closing in thirty minutes,” comes the cranky voice. “You might want to come back tomorrow.” A woman, clearly a smoker from the voice, at least several pipes a day.
“I can get this done really quick. Don't you want to get a commission? I'll be in and out.”
Poking her head out of her office and blinking. “If you've come here to rob us I don't have the key to the safe,” she says.
“I don't want to rob you. I want an apartment. I've got money.” Flashing a couple of the remaining gold.
“You look like an axe murderer.”
“There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. You said you were closing in thirty minutes, so let's hop to.”
“Alright,” she sighs, “please take a seat, Ms. Macarthy.” The woman sitting at her desk and picking her pipe back up. Giving it a puff.
“I'm interested in a one bedroom. But something decent, I'm not some kind of hobo. I was thinking thirteen hundred a month. Somewhere quiet and discrete.”
“Discretion is going to cost more than thirteen,” she says, “but I think I have a property near your price range, to the west of here. Let me get the floor plan.” Going over to a filing cabinet, selecting a drawer and pulling out a stack of paper. Coming back to her desk and sorting through it. Pulling one out and handing it over. “It's a one bedroom, one and a half bath, with a terrace overlooking this picturesque, quiet street. Somewhat near the street fair, but not so near that it'll keep you up. There are a few restaurants a couple blocks over. Fourteen hundred a month. It's quite nice. Hardwood floors.”
Studying the floor plan. Foyer, living room, kitchen, dining room, a couple closets, bedroom and one and a half bath.
“How tall are the ceilings?”
“Cathedral.”
“Furnished?”
“Partial.”
“Sounds good, and looks plenty big, but my main concern is discretion. How much do you suppose it's going to run me not to have the lease in my name? I figure we'll bump up your commission a bit.”
“For that sort of service, Ms. Smith, I'd figure an appropriate gratuity would be five hundred a month.”
“That's steep. How about instead of only being partially furnished you get some people to fix that. I'll give you first, security, and two months of your commission up front. I'd like a king size bed.”
“I'll draw up the contract now,” she says.
“Let me get the money from the bank. I'll be right back.”
Running to the bank. Withdrawing a note with every available silver to withdraw and getting back to the real estate office five minutes past closing. Ending up counting out the last two gold in silver after digging through my pack and still being a little short. Crap. No, wait, there is a solution.
“Let me see one of those gold coins real quick.”
Copy. These are always tough. Pinching as hard as possible, and slowly pulling apart. Very slick. Keep going. Almost there. Got it. One gold coin pinched between the fingers on each hand.
“Maybe I should've charged you more,” she says.
A bead of sweat rolling down my face. “Those are not easy, and now I've got to wait a little more than a day to do it again. I'd much rather have that for pint emergencies, or doubling the last fry. Much shorter cooldowns, and much more useful.”
“I'll take your word for it,” she says, with a cough. The woman handing over a key. “Here you are, Ms. Smith. You can move in tomorrow after about three. This is the address of the residence. Have future payments sent to this postal address, and my commission to this one. Pleasure doing business with you.” The woman handing over the scrap of paper.
Errands, for the most part, done. Probably a record. Time to head underground.
***
Late. Almost eleven. Staring at nothing while sitting in the public bath. The room essentially empty with the building closing in a few minutes. My final chore of the day. Doing a last stretch and then getting out. Towel, front desk, staring at them, getting my freshly cleaned clothes and heading back to the locker room. Taking the time to comb out my hair. Every other remaining guest long gone. Final check. Equipped, armed and ready. Leaving the locker room and tapping on the walls. Tapping my feet getting up to the front desk. Two of them at the counter. Walking right up and tapping my hands.
“Ms. Macarthy, is there something you need help with?” the one on the left says.
“Yes, there is. Thank you for asking.”
“Ms. Macarthy, it's past closing time so we're going have to ask you to leave soon,” the one on the right says.
“Didn't you hear I had a question? You know what, for all our sakes, do me a favor and don't try to run. There's two of you but I only need one.”
Their breaths catching.
“I have a very simple question. It's about something we all know about. To bring your fear down a touch, I understand that you may have issues discussing it, issues that are beyond your control.”
The wild panic in their eyes subsiding a bit.
“So, I was just wondering, where exactly is what I'm looking for?”
The two looking at each other, and then the one on the right coming around near me, but looking off to the left. Stretching out his left arm, finger pointing. Putting his arm right next to my head and pointing at a spot in the hallway. Squinting my eyes, studying it, and then seeing the crack. No, not a crack, another hallway, heading off toward the baths.
Nodding at him, and then walking down the newly discovered hallway. A door leading to a barren, rectangular room with a bare floor and unpainted walls. Heading through, but hitting a dead end. A pull chain and a shower head, but no exit to a bath. It's the only thing here. Giving it a pull. Nothing. Trying again, but nothing. The third pull, however, causing the floor to drop out from under me, sending me below.